Indeed There Will Be Time
by AMarguerite
Summary: Sequel to 'We Have Lingered Long in the Chambers of the Sea'. Albus Dumbledore shoulders his responsibilities, reflects on Gellert Grindelwald, lies frequently, and has his attempts at taking tea continually thwarted. Complete.
1. Before the Taking of Toast and Tea

A/N: Part two of my trilogy, _Insiduous Intents._ The first part is posted here under the title _We Have Lingered Long in the Chambers of the Sea.  
_Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and I am not writing this to do anything but to amuse myself, procrastinate on my homework, and hone my craft. Please do not sue.

* * *

It was very strange how they had changed. Albus thought about it as he took tea with the Minister of Magic.

When they had been very young and Gellert's air of innocence was more believable, Albus could not survive without him. Gellert was as necessary as air, as water, as blood. A day without him was misery.

But now- how the years had passed! Was it five or forty- six? It didn't seem to matter. When Ariana had died, and Gellert left, the world collapsed around him. Albus tried not to think about it, but he would lie in the bed they had had transfigured and huddle in on himself, and the dreams would come.

"_She'll come with us," Gellert said. His enthusiasm had changed somehow, in the time since were kissing and experimenting and planning in the garden to the time when they went in and Aberforth blocked the door to the study where they kept their trunks and their notes and their evidence. Gellert was dangerous now; he was angry and impatient and he was very, very bad at controlling his temper. "Albus and I together can surely control her."_

"_You _can't _move her!" roared Aberforth. "She's in no fit state; you can't take her with you, wherever it is you're planning to go, when you're- you're making clever speeches, trying to take over the world or whatever the hell it is you're doing!"_ _He whirled on Albus. "You have a responsibility! You can't go cavorting off on your own! You can't stay holed up in your room! You have to take care of Ariana!"_

"_I know!" Albus snapped. _

"_You _stupid _boy," snarled Gellert. "You utter _fool_. Why do you think we're doing this? Once we have, Ariana won't need to hide. Once the Muggles know about us and know their place, Ariana can-"_

"_But if she gets upset, what will you do then?" Aberforth bellowed, pulling his wand. "You don't think!" He brought his wand down viciously, screaming out (of all things) a Bat- Boegy hex._

_It was a bad idea. Gellert was much faster and the very, very stupid, immature, childish hex Aberforth aimed at him, which snagged at Gellert's hair before Gellert blasted it to pieces, made Gellert lose it entirely._

"_You have no idea what we're trying to do!" Gellert slashed his wand down viciously, violently and suddenly Aberforth was writhing on the floor and screaming and-_

"_You can't use an Unforgivable Curse! Gellert, no! Stop!" And he tackled Gellert and they had completely forgotten their wands and were wrestling until Aberforth remembered his wand and shot at them with a jelly-legs curse of all things and then they were all cursing each other and Aberforth was bull-headed and murderous and Gellert was incandescent with rage and Albus, Albus was in the middle trying to stop them when Ariana-_

_Ariana screamed. She didn't like it when people raised their voices. _

_And they all whirled around to look at her, but they had said the curses already-_

Albus would always sit up with a start and then huddle in on himself again. He tried very hard, very hard to forget, but some memories leave indelible marks.

For example, Aberforth had broken his nose at Ariana's funeral.

That had made it _very_ difficult to forget.

Gellert did not write to him. When they all stood around, staring at the thin blonde body sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs, Gellert had refused to look at either of them.

Gellert had seen who killed her.

Then Aberforth flung himself on Ariana's body and Gellert started to say, 'Well, it's better she's dead, now you can with me', but the grief in Albus's eyes stopped him half-way through and Gellert, puzzled and confused and upset, yanked open the door and ran off. Ariana was dead, and Aberforth hated Albus and Gellert for it and Albus hated himself and Gellert took a Portkey back to Eastern Europe.

Albus did not write to Gellert. He didn't want to know.

Gellert knew this. He sent Albus boxes of sweets from everywhere he traveled, badly knitted socks, odd little artifacts that may or may not have been stolen, but he never wrote a word.

Sometimes Albus sent him things back, but usually he didn't. It hurt too much to see everything and think of Gellert and know that everything had been ruined.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," announced the Minister of Magic, sweeping in, her arms full of papers. She was a short, thin witch, with pure white hair she wore pinned up, out of the way, and a pearl set that had become her trademark just as surely, Albus thought, as the Elder Wand would become Gellert's.

Marjorie Stelthack sat down behind her desk and folded her hand together on top of her paperwork. "So."

"Were we going to have tea?" Dumbledore asked. "I heard you have some lovely fairy-made cakes."

"I heard you had a sweet tooth." She snapped her fingers, never taking her steely gray eyes off of him. "Well, there is some truth to rumor."

"I suppose it all depends upon the rumor."

A house elf bustled in, pushing a silver tea cart. Stelthack ignored the tea tray entirely, forcing Albus, who really had been looking forward to the fairy-made cakes, to ignore them as well.

"You are professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts?" Stelthack inquired.

"Yes."

"And before that, alchemy partner to Nicholas Flammel?"

"I still am, actually."

She looked down at her papers and flicked through them. "There is no need to go through your extensive lists of accolades and prizes. You serve on the Wizengamot and the International Conference of Wizards, and were the recipient of a ridiculous number of prizes upon your graduation from Hogwarts."

"It does appear that I have a very busy life," he said mildly.

Stelthack was not amused. "Then it is indeed possible that the rumors are true."

"I cannot answer that," he replied, looking with longing at the covered dishes on the tea-cart, "without knowing what rumors you're talking about. I do indeed have a scar in the shape of the Muggle Underground on my knee and, yes, I did submit that charming knitting pattern for a night-cap with a tassel to _Witch Weekly_ under a pseudonym. I doubt, however, that you're interested in either of those."

"No, but my granddaughter quite liked the pattern." Stelthack noticed the direction of Dumbledore's stare. "Before we take toast and tea, I must ask- can you defeat Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore considered this a moment. "Possibly. I have heard that your jam selection-"

"Jam can wait."

"One must always make time for jam," Dumbledore interjected placidly.

"No jam _or _toast until we decide what to do about Grindelwald. Now, according to popular rumor, you're the rallying point of resistance in Britian against Grindelwald and his armies. You are the only equal to him in power or talent." She pressed her lips together, clearly unconvinced that the auburn-haired man sitting before her and focusing on jam instead of a fascist pan-European empire could be at all compared with the most powerful dark wizard of the century. "Immaterial of whether it is true or not, _the public_ believes in you, and thus believe that Britain is safe from invasion. _I_ know this to be a load of hippogriff manure and also know that Grindelwald could attack at any time. I must know and know definitely- are you powerful enough to defeat Grindelwald and, if it came down to it, would you fight him?"

Albus really did not want to answer this. He still received little boxes of sweets and strange silver knick-knacks with dubious magical properties from Gellert and it was hard to come to terms with the idea that Gellert- his Gellert, who had kissed him on riverbanks and who had gone to operas with him- was a dictator who had conquered all of Wizarding Europe.

"I doubt that I can give you a straight answer," Dumbledore replied, when Stelthack's glare grew uncomfortable. "Rest assured, however, that he will not invade Britain."

"He won't?" asked the Minister of Magic. Dumbledore did not blame her for being highly skeptical. "Why not?"

"I'm afraid it _is_ because of me," Dumbledore answered, almost apologetically. "He won't attack Britain as long as I'm here. That, and he'd have to cross the Channel. Inferi do not travel well over water."

"You don't think Grindlewald could think of a way to get his Inferi around the Channel?"

"He would, if he were so inclined. Fortunately, he is not."

"You can say that with absolute certainty?"

"Yes."

"Why does he attach so much importance to you, then?"

"I don't think you would believe me if I told you," Dumbledore informed her pleasantly. "Suffice to say, he would rather avoid a duel, as would inevitably happen if he attempted to invade Britain. I do not mean to aggrandize myself, but he really would not wish for it to happen."

Stelthack frowned. "I suppose you can't give me an answer, straight- out? How can we know that he won't try to take over Britain?"

Dumbledore decided to go with the truth, since it wouldn't be believed anyways. "He and I fell madly in love over the course of two months in 1899. We were both very bright, curious boys and it seemed a very good idea to experiment-"

The Minister of Magic rolled her eyes. "Fine. Don't tell me. Keep your secret powers hidden. But there will come a point when you will have to take him down, since _you're _the one he's avoiding. Keep it in mind." She flicked her fingers at him impatiently, in a brusque sort of farewell. She had a country to run, after all, and _having_ someone to take care of Grindelwald, should Grindelwald ever become a problem, was more important than _knowing why_ this someone could take care of Grindelwald.

Dumbledore tried to leave as unobtrusively as possible, but no, Elphias was there at the doorway, waiting for him, and turning him away was like kicking a puppy.

"What did she want, Albus?"

"She asked about Grindelwald."

"And?"

Dumbledore decided, then and there, that since no one would ever believe the truth, he might as well make up a lie that sounded more like the truth than the truth did itself. "I think I may know of a way to beat him. It will take a great deal of research, however. Years, even."

"I will help you," Elphias declared, the light of hero worship making his eyes shine as if filled with tears. Dumbledore looked away. It hurt to admit it, but he couldn't help but compare Elphias's signature brand of sentimentalism with the incandescent blaze of Gellert's passion.

When Albus had mentioned the Deathly Hallows, Gellert's face had lit up, not with hero worship, but with an enthusiasm and brilliance stemming from a profound intelligence. Gellert seldom indulged in melodrama like this. Albus got the impression that if he talked about the Dealthy Hallows with Elphias, he would either get another variation of, 'Oh, Albus, you're so brave/ kind/ good/ clever/ insert positive adjective here' or a blank look.

He missed Gellert like a phantom limb. The ache was acute and unbearable and Albus was suddenly, vastly annoyed with Elphias.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said instead, tamping down his irritation with Elphias. No one was like Gellert. No one had the same intelligence and drive and-

And utter amorality.

Stupid or not, Elphias would never think to try and take over the world and establish a benevolent dictatorship over wizards and Muggles.

And that was why he wasn't half so interesting or compelling.

Albus had to admit, no one was even partially as compelling as Gellert. Albus read the newspapers, just like everyone else and watched the new talking pictures, capable of reciting an entire speech over and over again, that Gellert had invented. Since leaving, Gellert had somehow realized all the potential burning, bubbling underneath his skin. He had harnessed the golden fire that always seemed to blaze around him so incandescently and he drew people to him, even more so than before. He was effortlessly charming, he was efficient, he was handsome, he was brilliantly intelligent, and he _planned_. Gellert always knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how to get it.

In his speeches, he burned with fervor for a world only he (and Albus, when he let himself be Albus instead of Dumbledore) could understand entirely. He was compelling, and he was utterly dangerous.

There were, in Dumbledore's opinion, few things more dangerous than an intelligent dreamer stirred to action. Gellert had had the incredible ability to see the world as he thought it should be, and the rarer ability to change the world to make it conform to what it then ought to be. Albus often thought about this, when he was alone in his office, listening to the wireless, or watching the posters of Gellert making speeches.

Of course, Gellert being Gellert, he took it too far. He created "re-education" camps, to hold and train his enemies, to turn them into followers. He had a terrible tendancy to blow up anywhere that rejected his ideas. He violently overthrew governments who did not want to build his utopia. He still got extremely upset when people either didn't understand him, or didn't agree with him, and, though he rarely personally killed someone, he had done it enough to make Albus avoid going to dinner for about three weeks, when you put it all together, to avoid hearing his colleagues and his students whispering about Grindelwald. He knew that by doing so, he created more rumors, but it always came as a soul-crushingly bitter blow when Gellert proved that he wasn't everything Albus had thought him to be, in that sweet sticky summer when he was eighteen and infatuated.

It was hard to remember that Gellert was Grindelwald now, just as surely as Albus was Dumbledore. In the posters of "the dictator", Gellert still glittered with allure, and Albus could still see that swift, fierce intelligence, that golden charm, that ability to draw everyone to him. Only in those moments did Albus ever forget that he was Dumbledore, that he had responsibilities he could not leave, that he had people who looked up and relied on him.

His resentment came again. Trapped- he was trapped again, he was always trapped by the expectations and the needs of others. Albus had needed one thing and one thing only- and that was Gellert. However, Professor Dumbledore needed to do the right thing- and that right thing would be opposing Gellert's near reign of terror.

What had happened? There was one memory that he replayed over and over, almost enough to wear it out, just because it seemed so strange and unreal.

_They sat under the tree again, leaning against each other, curving in on one another, entirely inseparable._

"_I somehow fear the end of summer," Albus said._

"_Why? Do you think I'd leave?" Gellert laughed, a light, rippling sound that glimmered softly, like unfurling gold silk. "I got expelled and _you _graduated. There is nothing to keep us apart, now that we've found one another."_

_Albus wished so desperately to believe him that it hurt. "Are you sure?"_

'_Of course we'll always be together,' Gellert said, with some surprise. He stroked Albus's cheek, comfortingly, trailed his fingertips down Albus's neck in a touch so light, he left goosebumps in his wake. "It never crossed my mind that we wouldn't. We _must_ be together, Albus. Think of what we can accomplish together! We can't do nearly as much apart. Wait, let's try something. Hold onto my wand and think of a spell."_

_They clasped their hands together around Gellert's wand and Gellert nearly pounced on Albus in a furious kiss. Without either of their thinking it in more than passing, a flash of blue light shot out of Gellert's wand and made the tree behind them uproot and dance around._

"_We picked the same spell," Gellert announced, delighted._

"_Of course we did," Albus said, laughing. "We know each other too well not to."_

And then Albus would hear himself repeating it over and over- 'we know each other too well'. Had he? Had he really, back then?

What had changed? What had caused that strange disconnect of thought between them? Had it always been there, and had he been too love-struck to notice?

All the same, he often wondered, when it was late and dark and he was alone and his phoenix, Fawkes, had flown off for the night, if, perhaps, Gellert had been right, and the ends justified the means, if the killing was really justified. After all, Albus had written a few books, a few articles, discovered a few things, but was really just a schoolteacher. He couldn't handle power. It was too much of a temptation, too much of a chance to become corrupted. Gellert _could _manage power, and, if he was corrupted by it, then Albus certainly couldn't tell the difference. Gellert was as he always was- only now Gellert had an empire to realize his dreams. Albus had almost given up on dreams entirely.

Those thoughts lasted only a moment, however.

As soon as he thought it, he rejected it. As much as he loved Gellert, he could not agree. There was no way to justify killing. There was no way to justify the death of the innocent, like when Gellert blew up entire towns. There was no way to justify the crush of ideas, like when Gellert managed to take over most of the presses in mainland Europe.

He still loved Gellert- madly, wildly, passionately- but he could not agree anymore. He felt like a Muggle yin-yang, taken apart. They were two halves of a whole, but now they opposed each other, and soon they would eclipse any speck of the other they once had within them.

"Are you alright Albus?" came Elphias's voice.

He realized that Elphias had been speaking ever since they left the Minster for Magic's office. He felt a vague stirring of guilt and a stronger rush of irritation.

"Just thinking," Dumbledore replied, trying to think of some way to get rid of Elphias. Though for the most part, Dumbledore had been cripplingly, isolatingly lonely since Gellert left, it was almost better to be alone than with people who so obviously didn't understand and never would.

"About what, Albus?"

'_About sending you to Cornwall_.' "My research. I think I shall have to go back to Hogwarts and convince Madame Pince that, as a Professor myself, I ought to be allowed to read the books there."

"Let me help you!" Elphias exclaimed.

There was another thing. Gellert would _never _have believed such an obvious lie. Of course, Albus would _never_ have been trying to get rid of Gellert.

"This is something I must do alone," Dumbledore lied, trying to look sage and old and impressively noble.

"Oh, Albus, you're so _good_," gushed Elphias.

How could _anyone_ have believed that line?

"It's going to take me a while, but it is a path of knowledge that I, alas, must tread in solitude. The sooner I embark, the sooner I return." He was just making things up now. Gellert, at that point, would have laughed, long and musical and bright, and come up with something equally dramatic and ridiculous, but no, Gellert had gone and established a totalitarian regime over a huge chunk of Europe and Albus was stuck with a crying Elphias.

Again.

Strange how things never seemed to change.

"Oh, Albus!" wept Elphias.

"Come, come!" Dumbledore said heartily, to keep the impatience he felt out of his voice. "I am not so very unused to going at things alone, Elphias. Back to Hogwarts and if you would be so kind as to accompany me there, I think I shall have to start out on this little quest for knowledge. It should be most intriguing. I shall start immediately."

Albus realized by 'immediately', he meant 'preferably not within the next five years', but Gellert was the only other person who could have understood and Gellert wasn't there. Albus burned with frustration.

It was not a good day. No day had been a good day since Gellert left.

But he remembered that people looked up to Dumbledore, and instead of doing or saying anything else, he just patted Elphias on the back and suggested that they go back to Hogwarts again and perhaps the house elves would make them hot cocoa.

He kept his resolution to ignore Grindelwald to himself. He would not lay a finger on Gellert; it was simply something he had never thought of doing and was sure he could never do. It was an impossibility that no one else could understand.

It was only after Dumbledore went back to Hogwarts that he realized that he didn't even have _toast _and tea with the Prime Minister. It was quite a disappointment.


	2. Some Talk of You and Me

"You said you would do something if it came down to it," said Stelthack's head in the fire.

"Did I?" Dumbledore asked.

Stelthack scowled. "Not as such, but I thought we both understood that _you _were to deal with Grindelwald should the need arise. You're hailed as the most powerful wizard of the twentieth century, and you're- what, afraid of a boarding-school drop-out?"

"No," Dumbledore replied mildly. "I'm not afraid. I'm just rather concerned at the prospect of a show-down with an extraordinarily powerful Dark Wizard who has now placed all of Europe and some parts of Asia under a continent-wide fascist empire. You must admit that a school teacher rather pales in comparison."

The scowl deepened. "Who else can go at him?"

"Well, yes, there is that problem. However can I… er, _go at him_, as I believe you phrased it?"

"That's what Dodge said you'd been researching for the past _five years, _since _before _we made our agreement," Stelthack snarled.

Curse Elphias.

"I'm afraid," Dumbledore replied cheerily, "that all my research has only proved the _impossibility_ of defeating Gellert Grindewald. At least, by ordinary means. I could, theoretically, challenge him to a Wizarding Duel, but then I would probably become his prisoner and he'd have no compunctions what-so-ever about taking over Britain."

"So… what you're telling me is that he's afraid of your reputation… which is actually an incredible exaggeration of, if not outright lie about, your actual talents."

Dumbledore dealt with the situation as he dealt with all uncomfortable situations-- by projecting an aura of incredible intelligence that bordered on the condescending and by smiling.

The Minister of Magic did not return the smile. "I don't know what to make of you, Dumbledore. You're either completely insane or incredibly brilliant."

"The two are often interchangeable," Dumbledore replied, still mildly and calmly.

"If you can't beat him, get him to think that you can and make him never wish to try- wise plan at the outset. However, this leads to several problems." She frowned and was silent a moment. "Like the fact that all we have protecting us against Grindelwald is your existence and popular rumor."

"You could put it like that," Dumbledore agreed.

"Damn it. Britain's going to fall as soon as you develop a head cold." She disappeared from the fire and Dumbledore sat back down to spreading jam over his toast and the solitary task of attempting to justify ignoring the imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of people in Europe.

Someone pounded on his door.

"Yes?" Dumbledore called, putting down his toast with some reluctance. "The door is open."

Tom Riddle, one of his young students, an incredibly handsome boy and an incredibly dangerous one, burst in, Horace Slughorn right behind.

"Professor!" gasped Tom, holding out a newspaper. "Professor, look!"

"I came as soon as Tom showed me," Horace said, anxiously smoothing out the silk front of his dressing gown. It bulged out in the middle; Horace ate more sweets than Dumbledore did, and did not enjoy walking quite as much.

Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses back up his nose. "Let me see?"

The special edition headline blared at him: _GRINDELWALD TAKES OVER EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA, AND THE SOUTH PACIFIC: IS BRITIAN NEXT?_

"Is he?" Tom asked breathlessly. "Will he, Professor?"

"Albus, you have to do something," Horace interjected unnecessarily. "I can brew you up whatever you need, but you really _have _to do something."

"You expect a Transfiguration professor to successfully subdue the greatest Dark Lord of the century?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "I thank you for the vote of confidence, but I'm afraid-"

"You? Afraid?" Tom looked incredulous.

"It happens to the best of us."

Slughorn anxiously smoothed out his mustache. "Albus, you are the only one who could even hope to stand up to him."

Albus remembered the light, fast, lovely duels of those two months, where they ended up rolling together in the grass and kissing. Somehow, it did not seem dignified to start snogging a wizard who had taken over a good chunk of the world, but they had never actually finished a duel and Dumbledore didn't quite know who would win.

"Oh, I doubt it," Dumbledore lied.

"Please Albus! You're the most brilliant wizard of the century! You've never been defeated in a duel."

"What," Tom asked, with a perfect 'innocent, hero-worshiping schoolboy' look that somehow felt very hollow, "could keep you from fighting?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "it is something you can't quite understand." It came in a sudden flash, along with the memory of Tom scarring and scaring his classmates back at the orphanage. Tom did not understand love and never would. Very few people, in fact, would understand love and its power. Albus tried to count himself lucky that he had loved at all, even if he had lost it and he still felt raw and torn and halved by it.

Horace mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and then sat down in one of Dumbledore's cushy armchairs. "Albus, I don't understand. You aren't a coward. You're one of the bravest people I know. You have never backed away from any challenge, so why… why this one? You were never one to be afraid of failure."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and steepled his long, thin fingers together. "Before now, failure has only ever affected myself. Now it- " It affects _Gellert. _"-it affects the fate of the entire wizarding world. You will forgive me if I still take some time to see if I can be absolutely certain that I will not fail."

Fawkes swooped in with a sweet, calm, musical cry that brought tears to the eyes. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and felt Fawkes's feathers ghost across the top of his head as the phoenix flew to land on his armrest.

"But, but Albus!" Slughorn protested, squirming uncomfortably in his chair. "Albus, have you seen the death toll?"

"What?" Dumbledore asked, forcing himself to sit up straighter.

Tom stepped forward and handed Dumbledore the paper. "They interviewed a witch who escaped from Nurmengard, the largest re-education camp. She is the only person who has left the camp alive, according to the article." Dumbledore did not like that curious spark of barely suppressed excitement in Tom's eyes.

Dumbledore read it through carefully.

"Albus, when the re-education doesn't work for someone, Grindelwald kills them." Slughorn seemed more than uncomfortable to say this. "No one, except this witch, who was married to one of the guards- that's how she escaped you see, he let her out and pretended she died- has left the camp unless they are dead. The ones who _do _get re-educated work in the camp; Grindelwald keeps his head-quarters and administration there."

"Sir, the death toll is estimated to be around 5 million." Tom said this logically, curiously, as if wondering how this had been accomplished and if he could ever replicate it.

He would have to keep an eye on Tom.

"It's us and the Americas." Slughorn wiped his forehead again. "Australia is just about ready to submit and I heard that New Guinea and New Zealand are just about ready to crumble. A few more hours and they will surrender too."

"Japan and Russia have given in and joined him," Tom added, as if giving an answer to a homework problem.

Fawkes butted at Dumbledore's hand and Dumbledore absently stroked him. This, apparently, was not the right response, as Fawkes nipped at his finger.

He dropped the paper. "Ow! What, Fawkes?"

Fawkes ruffled his wings and sang a selection of Wagner.

Albus froze, his hands clenching, the skin of his knuckles so taught the bone showed through.

A gold embossed card dropped from the air into the periwinkle fabric covering Albus's lap. It read:

_You are most cordially invited to a tea with Gellert Grindelwald on Sunday, April 29th, 1945, at 4 pm. This invitation is a Portkey, for your convenience._

_Meggyes leves will be served, along with a delightful selection of sweets, comfits, and champagne. Formal dress is requested, but not required._

"Fawkes, some Mozart if you please. As applicable as 'the Flight of the Valkyries' is to the situation, I fear that it adds a note of unnecessary terror to the proceedings."

Fawkes blinked at him and instead launched into a soft, lilting Handel aria- Lascia ch'io pianga.

"Let me weep over my cruel fate," Dumbledore mused aloud, translating the lyrics. "Well Fawkes, it appears you know me better than I know myself."

"What was that, Albus?" Slughorn asked.

"A private matter, Horace," Dumblefore replied amiably. "Rest easy in the knowledge that I will now be going to the Ministry of Magic. Please be so kind as to send Minerva McGonagall an owl to see if she is able to take over my classes for the week, and possibly for the rest of her professional career."

"Of- of course," Slughorn stuttered.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, hiding the card in his sleeve. "Tom, please know that there is nothing admirable about a fascist pan-European empire."

"Of course, sir," Tom said, in a tone so even and smooth Dumbledore would have had to use Legimency to see what Tom actually thought. "Enjoy your tea."

"One must always have sustenance before battling the forces of evil. I am glad that you recognize such an important fact." Dumbledore sat down behind his table and, with Fawkes keening on in the background, attempted to eat.

As soon as Slughorn opened the door, however, Aberforth burst in, panting.

"Albus!"

"Hello Aberforth," Dumbledore said, putting down his toast once again. "How are you?"

"Did you see the paper?"

"Goodbye Horace, goodbye Tom," Dumbledore said pointedly. As soon as they left, Albus flicked his wand and the newspaper flew into his hand. "Yes, Aberforth. I did see it. Did you have someone read the paper to you?"

"Shut up!" Aberforth snapped. "Just shut up Albus. I am sick and tired of this. Grindelwald is taking over the world. And what are you doing to stop him? Nothing! You, you knew him when he was putting together his rubbish ideology-"

"Gellert," Albus interposed icily, "was not dangerous then."

"Gellert was always dangerous," Aberforth snapped. "Towards the end of summer, you always had bruises and scratches and bite marks. You didn't think I noticed? He was _dangerous_ and _demented _even if you only thought you two were fake dueling or whatever. _He _was in earnest."

Albus flushed. "It wasn't like that."

"Because Gellert was a damn good orator and could make you believe anything he wanted just by smiling."

"Alright. I grant you that."

"He's become a better one since then."

"Doubtless."

"So you understand that you can't believe him. He killed Ariana."

Albus said nothing. He was quite sure _he, _Albus, had killed her.

"Albus, you have to do something. You managed to earn these peoples' respect; go do _something _to earn it."

"Please, Aberforth," Dumbledore said. "You have made your point. If you will excuse me?"

Without another word, Dumbledore tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and popped into the Minister of Magic's office.

Stelthack blasted off a chunk of the mantelpiece as he came through.

"It's me!" Dumbledore said, holding up his hands. "Minister, it's me, Professor Dumbledore. I do so apologize for getting in the way of your interior decorating."

Stelthack glared at him. "What is it?"

Dumbledore pulled the invitation out of thin air and handed it to her. "It appears I have an invitation for tea from Grindelwald. He promised a very delicious Hungarian sour cherry soup. Have you ever tried it?"

Stelthack dropped all of her papers and her wand to the ground and appeared to be choking. "He- he… I… _what?_"

"Hungarian sour cherry soup. It's properly known as _meggyes leves._ I am quite fond of it."

"Not _that,_" Stelthack snapped. "The goddamn invitation to tea!"

Dumbledore examined it again. "Yes, it is very nice, is it not? Grindelwald is known for having very fine taste. I believe he tried his hand at painting one time or another."

"Well?" Stelthack demanded. "What are you going to do?"

"Finally get to have tea," Dumbledore said dryly. "I trust you have no objections, Minister."

Stelthack hesitated, drumming her fingers on her wand. "Are you prepared?"

"I probably will never be," Dumbledore replied, with a rare flash of honesty. "But we shall see what I can do in the meantime."

"I don't like this," Stelthack said. "But what else can we do? Refusing an invitation to tea could lead to war; Grindelwald's just that sort of person. Alright. I'll get the Auror department ready. You- you try and focus on something that isn't edible."

As the day approached, Albus found himself unaccountably nervous. He tried on a new set of sweeping, plum-colored robes, worn over his old-fashioned Muggle clothes. He spent a ridiculous amount of time tying his cravat as his little cadre of supporters sat behind him and brewed potions, paced, or nagged at him again.

"Alright, done." Slughorn waved away the fumes from his cauldron and ladled out a clear liquid into a flask. "Here you are, Albus. Slip it into your tea before you drink it; it should make all known poisons and some ones I just guessed at harmless enough."

"Constant vigilance," harrumped Alastor Moody, one of Albus's old school friends.

"I don't like this," said Poppy Pomphrey, who had just been put in charge of the Hospital Wing. "I really don't like this."

"Nor do I," piped in Elphias. "Not at all."

"You have the most irritating voice I have ever heard," Alastor Moody said. "Shut up."

Dumbledore would have very gladly kissed Moody. "Please," Dumbledore said instead. "I think we are all letting our nerves get the better of us."

A tabby cat padded back into the room and then turned into Minerva McGonagall, complete with her severe bun of brown hair and her square- rimmed spectacles. "The Minsitry is in a tizzy, as per usual. No idea what they're doing, no idea which way is up- tch."

"You are taking us with you?" Poppy asked anxiously. "I don't like you going there all by yourself."

"You are not allowed to enter Nurmengard," Dumbledore replied. "I will send Fawkes to show you how to get there if the situation ever gets enormously bad."

In ran Dedalous Diggle, and Dumbledore pretended that his frown of irritation was one of concentration.

"Albus!" Diggle gasped. "Albus, he's taken Australia!"

"Albus," said Minerva, glancing at the wall. "Three- fifty –five."

"Time to go." Dumbledore whistled for Fawkes, who flew over to land on his shoulder. He took the vial from Horace, tucked a gift – wrapped Muggle invention called a record under his arm, and placed his hand on the invitation.

After a moment, there was the familiar jerk from his navel, and Dumbledore and Fawkes popped into being right in front of Nurmengard.

Albus felt unaccountably nervous as he stared up at the stark, jet-black building with its rows of gates. After a moment, a very put-together witch, with gorgeous blonde hair and a charcoal- gray Muggle skirt- suit under silky black robes, walked out of the prison, accompanied by a small detachment of strangely pale-

Oh.

Inferi.

Gellert must have found the Stone after all.

"Monsieur Dumbley-dorr?" asked the witch, her black leather- gloved hands clasped before her, her wand out of sight. "I am Marie Mandel, Monsieur Grindelvald's secretary. 'Ee inquires if you would like to come into ze castle, of if you would prefer to 'ave tea out of doors."

"Out in the open," Dumbledore informed her cheerily. "I will admit that it is rather frigid out here, but the tea will be hot and I am willing to bet that accommodations may be made."

She inclined her blonde head and snapped her fingers, causing a table overflowing with food to pop up in the middle of a barren field, dusted with snow.

Dumbledore wondered about his exact location (most people agreed on Poland as the basis of operations, and the snow in April seemed to prove it) and smiled at Mademoiselle Mandel. "It appears that Grindelwald anticipated my wishes."

Mademoiselle Mandel flashed him a mirthless smile. Dumbledore later discovered that, among her other duties, Mademoiselle Mandel took particular delight in selecting prisoners for the spell experimentation chambers and had developed a spell, which she had published and took great pride in, that showed, how with the blood of just one virgin, one could banish any and all hair problems for at least six months. What had caught Grindelwald's notice (besides her long blonde hair; Gellert had always had an eye for beauty) was her appreciation for music. She rounded up all prisoners with a smattering of musical talent and organized them into an orchestra and chorus, which played at every arrival of officials, every departure of officers, every execution, every successful or unsuccessful experiment, and every torture session. Dumbledore later found that angry French men and women, outraged at their countryman's betrayal, shaved her head, trampled on her prized blond locks, and paraded her through the streets before locking her deep within Nurmengard.

"Monsieur Grindelwald is always attentive to ze details," Mademoiselle Mandel said, her high heels crunching in the snow and icy ground. She snapped again and up popped two chairs. "Please be seated, Monsieur. 'Ee will be out shortly."

Dumbledore swept out his plum colored robes and sat into a comfortably cushioned chair.

Mademoiselle Mandel snapped her fingers again and a bird perch grew up from out of the ground. Fawkes, with a soft cry of thanks, flew over to the perch and sat, his long fail-feathers trailing behind him like Albus's robes.

"Ah! 'Eere 'ee is, Monsieur!" She dropped a curtsey. "Enjoy your tea."

Gellert Apparated beside her. He wore deep, rich, forest green robes trimmed in white fur against the cold. He was even more handsome than he had been in that strange, wonderful summer so many years ago. Gellert had hardened until his golden beauty blazed, without any extraneous part to get in the way of his brilliance, and his charm crackled uncontrollably.

It was very easy to see how Gellert had taken over most of the world with such comparative ease.

"You have a _beard_," Gellert commented. "It suits you, I think. At least it's the same color as your hair. One of my generals had a horrible beard that started to grow in gray, though he kept dying his hair black. I made him shave. I find it very upsetting when things aren't as they should be."

Mademoiselle Mandel stood behind on his right, eyebrows raised.

"That will be all, Mandel. I commend you for your prompt attention to your duties." He turned to her with a dazzling smile that caused a faint blush to cloud her pale skin. Despite himself, Dumbledore was impressed that Grindelwald could cause a witch as put-together as Mademoiselle Mandel to lose her composure. She stuttered out something and then turned on her heel and walked off, no doubt hiding her look of severe mortification.

Dumbledore was willing to bet that a good percentage of Grindelwald's staff had experienced enough of the golden, blazing charm and his fantastic allure to serve him out of love- though there was, no doubt, a good smattering of fear when anyone loved Gellert. He was unpredictable and beautiful as lightening was beautiful. His danger was part of his allure.

Gellert sat, to a soft swell of Tchaikovsky.

"This is for you," Albus said, handing over the record. "It's a Muggle invention. It plays Wagner if you put it in a machine."

Gellert smiled radiantly. "Thank you. What would you care for? I have soup, champagne-"

"Tea and cake would be lovely. What kind of tea do you have?"

"An unparalleled Darjeeling. You take it with four sugars, as I recall."

"Indeed I do."

Gelelrt poured him a cup and a sweet, light floral scent drifted up to him. Dumbledore reached for the cup and saucer, and accidentally grabbed Grindelwald's hand instead. Albus's façade shattered utterly and he took his tea, sloshing some of it over the rim, and set it down in front of him.

It took only that, a soft, lighting-fast touch on the hand to made waves of longing and tenderness crash down on him. He _loved _Gellert. Even after all that time, he still loved him, longed for him desperately.

He was trapped, trapped by it, by the overpowering, crushing sense of affection and attraction that imprisoned him so that he could only strain and tremble against it, unable to do anything but feel.

Albus closed his eyes, because his heart would break and his life would lose all meaning if the same thing wasn't happening to Gellert too. It was better to live in that painful state of hopeful ignorance.

"Your phoenix looks well," Gellert said.

Albus opened his eyes. "Yes. Fawkes has lovely plumage today, does he not?"

Gellert crumbled up a bit of lemon cake onto a plate and held it up for Fawkes to nibble. "Remarkable birds, phoenixes. You and he suit each other perfectly. You even match, color-wise."

"I do try."

Gellert cut him several slices of different cakes and piled them on a plate. "It is very good to see you, Albus. We have not properly talked in years."

"Not for… oh… it must be over forty years now."

"You were always better at numbers," Gellert said simply, pushing the plate across the table. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation after all. You'd been avoiding me so successfully for so long I didn't think you ever wished to see me again."

Albus did not have an answer and so instead cut up his cake into small pieces.

"Oh, come," Gellert said irritably. "It isn't poisoned. Why would I poison you? It would be a waste of a brilliant mind."

"I thank you." Albus poured Fawkes a saucer of tea and then turned to his own refreshment. The tea itself was almost scorchingly hot, leaving behind a sweet, cooling aftertaste that robbed the cake of its taste. "You know, Gellert, I must congratulate you. No one has ever done what you have done and no one is likely to ever do it again."

Gellert, his hands propped up on his hands, grinned at him. "I am glad you think so, Albus."

"That," Albus continued on, "is not to say that it should have been done."

Gellert paused, looking stricken. "Oh, _Albus_. Do you read everything you believe in papers? What happened to you? What happened to that brilliant young wizard who planned with me?"

"We grew up," Albus replied. "It was natural that we grew apart, too."

Fawkes made a soft, keening sound and hopped down onto Albus's shoulder.

"So… I suppose it is useless to ask if you will join me?" Gellert asked.

"Yes."

"Send your bird away for a moment, Albus. I wish to speak with you privately."

Albus held up his hand for Fawkes to step onto, stood, and flung Fawkes up into the air. The phoenix disappeared with a sweet, sad cry, a fitting descant to the Tchaikovsky underlying their conversation, like the subconscious thoughts swirling behind each word.

"I love you," Gellert whispered. He was incandescently, indescribably beautiful, his untouched blond curls still loose around his handsome face, his sea-colored eyes pulling him in like an undertow. "I never stopped, Albus. Why torment ourselves by being apart?"

He wrenched himself away from Gellert's gaze. "Because, Gellert, there is no way to justify killing. We have both become entirely different people. You have become a dictator who thinks nothing of the means as long as the end is in sight, and I? I am a school teacher who must always focus on the means."

They stood facing each other, the frozen ground stretching endlessly between them.

"So it has come to this?" Gellert asked, rather sadly.

"It appears so," Albus replied, sitting, unable to look at Gellert. "Somehow we have come to represent two opposite ideologies and that has taken over our private lives." He ran his fingertip around the rim of his tea-cup, wishing he could force himself to drink.

"I don't really want to fight my friend," Gellert said. "Must we, Albus?"

"Well," Albus said reflectively, "we could end it all if you dismantled your empire and agreed to go to prison for the rest of your life."

"That doesn't sound like any fun at all."

"No, I didn't think you'd agree. So, we must be Grindelwald and Dumbldore and one of us most lose."

"I am sorry," Gellert said, Vanishing the table with a flick of his wand.

"I am too," Albus replied, pulling his wand out of his pocket. He heard the distant cry of phoenix song. "_En garde_!"


	3. See the Moment of My Greatness Flicker

He was going to die. He felt the ice-cold certainty of it as he saw Grindelwald- no, Gellert, his Gellert, who had once clung to him so tightly neither could tell where one began and the other ended- lean over him, wand raised.

Albus's wand was in Gellert's other hand and Fawkes was lying over to the side, an ugly, featherless, scrawny little thing, unable to offer any sort of help.

For the sake of form, Albus tried to cast a shield charm without his wand but it was weak and wavered and Gellert got rid of it with a flick of his wand.

Gellert paused, though, his wand still uplifted, his blond curls wild and unruly around his face. There were lines around his eyes- what ridiculous things people thought of when they were dying.

How had Gellert aged? He was still Gellert, the Gellert who bounced off walls with his manic energy, the Gellert who crackled with intelligence, but he somehow _wasn't _any longer. Gellert had channeled that mad glee somehow but it was _wrong _and he really was going to die and Grindelwald would take over the world because Dumbledore had died.

Albus had died with Ariana already.

Of course Grindelwald would kill Dumbledore; Gellert had killed Albus.

"Why the wait?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "You might as well kill me now. You were never one to drag something out and risk an increase in the chance of failure."

"Perhaps I have changed to a point where we no longer understand one another. Perhaps you have too." Gellert's eyes bore into his, but Albus looked away, breaking off all attempts at Occulmancy.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Gellert said, in an injured tone of voice.

"I think we have moved much beyond that," Dumbledore replied. A pause. "Your legions are coming."

"Yes," Grindelwald said vaguely, for once in his life uncertain of his actions. "As are yours."

"I really have no idea who will reach here first," Dumbledore commented, more to say something than to add anything relevant to the conversation. "It may end badly for the survivor. Was this your plan, then? Waiting until everyone can see what you've done?"

"No," Grindelwald said. "I don't really want to kill you. It's very wasteful to rid the world of such a brilliant mind."

"Thank you."

"You were wrong, though," Grindelwald said, at last coming to a decision and swishing his wand in an almost lazy arc. Dumbledore could not do anything but watch, now. "I wasn't really aiding Hitler. He's become competition." Gellert tilted his head to the side, his blond curls falling over his shoulder as they had back when they were young and idealistic and they both worked for the greater good. It was strange too, how they had not aged, how young they still were, how they still both had the same hair color, the same eyes, the same gestures.

"He used to be a minion, but he's become very bad and naughty. He kills Muggles. He oughtn't to do that. He has to disarm them and teach them obedience, not let them blow each other up. It is dreadfully inconvenient to have one's future subjects and citizens blown into pieces. I've tried to control him, and though I did very well at first, he keeps throwing off my Imperiuses. I think the constant struggle is driving him insane. Otherwise, he would never have invaded Russia in the winter. It's always a bad plan. I do wish Hitler was easier to control. He keeps doing things that I don't want him to and which make him competition more than just a stupid Muggle minion." Grindelwald paused, waiting for Dumbledore's response, then said, "Oh!" and fiddled with the spell to let Dumbledore speak.

"Competition?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "That's an unusual view, considering that you controlled him for most of the war."

Instead of answering, Gellert grinned his old grin, the one that Albus couldn't stand to look at for too long because if he did then they would be kissing again and rolling around on the floor somehow, pretending to be dueling or wrestling or battling, but they never were, really. It was hard to fight your other half- which was why, Dumbledore thought, shelving Albus into the back of his mind with the kisses he once shared with Gellert, why this duel had been so hard, why he couldn't have won. However hard he wanted to believe it, he couldn't. He loved Gellert as he could never love anyone else.

They were equals.

They were brilliant.

They were two halves of the same whole- and there, there, that was why they had split. Albus knew that no matter the end, no matter how great the good, it could never justify the end. Gellert knew that the quest itself meant less than the goal. And there they could not agree and that was why Gellert was grinning at him like that and… and reading his thoughts….

"We are two halves of a whole," Gellert said, and it was Gellert who said this, not Grindelwald. Gellert sat down beside him. "This is very silly."

"It is," Albus agreed.

"You see? Why not go back to the way things were?"

'_Because of everyone who has died_,' Albus thought.

"Everyone dies," Grindelwald commented, pained. "Ariana-"

"Leave her out of this," Albus snapped, in a rare flare of temper he couldn't control. "This is not about Ariana, Gellert! The people you have imprisoned-"

"Oh _Albus_, do you believe everything you read? I thought you were more discerning than that. They're being _re-educated_."

Albus closed off his mind so tightly that even he couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"I think I will make you my prisoner," Grindelwald announced, almost at random. "Then neither of us can run away again." He reached out and Albus's auburn hair slid through his fingers. "I don't think you will like it very much, but it must be done, Albus. You need to be re-educated. You have to relearn everything we planned for when we were younger. I made you my enemy, I think, because I left Britain alone for you when I didn't leave anywhere else alone for _anyone _else. I see that was a mistake. I shouldn't have fought against you and you shouldn't have fought against me. The whole point of it all was to rule _together._" Gellert trailed his fingertips across Albus's cheek and despite himself, Albus closed his eyes. It was so _good _to relax and forget that he was Dumbledore, that he had to save the world, that everyone looked to him for help and that if he ever was weak enough to do so, he could reach out and grasp that power-

"You killed him!" someone shouted.

"Why," Gellert demanded, sounding very pained, "must everyone always expect the worst of me?"

With a bellow of rage, Elphias flung himself at Grindelwald, distracting him enough for Minerva to end the spell on Dumbledore. Dumbledore scarcely registered anyone else as he reached up and grabbed Grindelwald's wand, but Gellert had always been quick and Dumbledore merely grabbed Grindelwald's arm.

"Mandel!" Gellert shouted, as they struggled to gain control over one another without the least sign of magical powers. "Mandel, stop them!"

His secretary popped out of apparently nowhere with a troop of Inferi. With a shriek, she flung herself at Minerva McGonagall. Albus, still trying to grab for his wand, did not feel particularly worried. If Marie Mandel thought she had a chance of beating Minerva McGonagall, she suffered from an especially severe set of delusions.

Grindelwald pushed him over, landing on their arms, and they struggled and wrestled with each other like Muggles completely devoid of any magical ability whatever. It was just like that summer, again, when they wrestled for the feel of skin on skin and Albus could not now deny the hedonistic allure of the continual struggle, of the constant battle. Even now, as they rolled on the floor and grabbed and kicked at each other, Gellert was still the most attractive person Albus had ever met and the temptation to end the fight as they had in the past, with kisses and clawing embraces, rose before his eyes. The struggle was intense as they fell against each other, fell to the floor, bruised, broke, twisted, tore at one another, and though it was more violent, more deadly, more vicious than anything they had ever done, it would be so easy to stop the pain and the violence-

There was a flash in Gellert's eyes that suggested he thought the same.

The temptation was almost unbearable.

And then Grindelwald flipped him over, straddling him, the Elder Wand at Albus's throat, and Albus's wand pointing at Minerva, Alastor, Poppy, and Elphias. "Please step back," Grindelwald instructed them pleasantly. "Albus is completely at my mercy. Mandel?"

The blonde Frenchwoman snapped her gloved fingers and the Inferi circled Dumbledore's supporters. Elphias started to say something and one of the Inferi punched him out.

Dumbledore reminded himself that he really shouldn't be pleased at any of this.

"Well, it looks like I've won," Grindelwald commented rather conversationally. "That was rather a lot of fun, Albus. I wish we'd done that sooner. Now, I suppose you will not come quietly? I had hoped to tire you out enough so that you would come quietly."

"I won't let myself become a prisoner," Dumbledore said. "I will kill myself if you don't do it for me." Dumbledore tried to struggle out again, but the wand poking into his throat kept him from doing so.

Then, and only then, did Gellert realize what would happen.

Gellert stared at him.

Albus really wasn't Albus anymore.

He was Dumbledore, who had the lives of hundreds of people on his shoulders, who had taken on the responsibilities he had so resented and had picked a side completely and totally opposite to Grindelwald's. This was Dumbledore, whose love for the people who counted on him overwhelmed any love that Albus had ever felt for Gellert.

It would have been so simple, so easy, to forget everything and live in the past, in the sweaty, sweet summer before all the death-

"The past is called the past for a reason."

Gellert remained hopeful. "You really wouldn't-"

"No."

"So you don't still love-"

"_No._" The lie tore at Albus.

Gellert looked at him, curious, quiet, golden. Dumbledore blocked his mind and Gellert could not get in. This was strange and bewildering. Something in Gellert just could not understand the idea of killing Albus, to such an extent that Grindelwald, who thought nothing of killing when killing was necessary, could not bring himself to kill the one man standing in the way of his complete domination of the world. Actually possessing one of the Hallows had created a sort of values switch. The empire was well under way, all his plans fully realized- except for one detail.

Albus was not there.

Without Albus, everything seemed incomplete and it rankled Gellert almost as much as seeing gray hair. He did not like age, he did not like time. He wanted everything to be as it had been in that one bright, beautiful summer now. The important thing in the world now was Albus. Gellert had done everything else. "Then you really…?"

"I will not live as your prisoner. You must kill me."

Grindelwald said, "Well, if I must" and opened his mouth to say the incantation. Then he stopped, puzzled, and closed his mouth.

Gellert still loved Albus more than anything, more than the greater good or the Hallows or his empire. Killing Albus would be killing all the best parts of himself. He knew though, that, if he didn't kill Albus, then he himself would have to die. His empire would collapse, his armies scattered, himself, dead, or a perpetual prisoner because Albus didn't love him- didn't love him? No, he couldn't wrap his mind about how horrible that was, since it was Albus-

It was _Albus_

And if he kept going, Albus would die.

And Gellert dropped the Elder Wand.

"You will let me have new clothes," Gellert said, uncertainly. "And books. You will let me keep books and get newspapers. And keep a cat. I want a ginger cat with long fur."

"Yes."

"And you will visit me."

Albus said, "Yes."

Gellert dropped Albus's wand then, and Albus flipped him over and pinned him. He looked into Gellert's eyes, and it was the most miserable experience of his life.

Gellert smiled. "You liar. You still love me after all."

Albus could not look at him. Instead he picked up Gellert's wand- the Elder wand, Albus's wand now- and held it. It was heavy and horrible.

"Monsieur!" Mandel cried, letting her guard down for one moment as she turned and ran towards him.

Minerva leapt at her, turning into a cat as she soared through the air, and then buried her clws in Mademoiselle Mandel's prized golden hair, clawing at the other witch's scalp and face until Mandel had dropped her wand and Minerva stood in front of the Frenchwoman, her wand at the other woman's throat. "Pray call off your legions," Minerva said icily. "You have lost."

"Nevair!" Mandel snarled.

Minvera pursed her lips. "Suit yourself."

Mandel toppled over like a board, stiffly hitting the ground with enough force to crack bones. The Inferi slowly fell back to the round, motionless, inert.

Dumbledore conjured up ropes that wound themselves around Gellert.

"Kinky," Gellert said, with a rougish sort of grin.

"No," Albus said firmly. "That's all past, Gellert. You have to know that now."

"You can deny it all you wan,t" Gellert replied, looking perfectly at his ease. "I know you, albus. You can never lie to me. You love me. And it's killing you."

Minerva and Alastor yanked Grindelwald to his feet as soon as Albus stood.

"The Aurors are coming!" Slughorn wheezed, apparently not used to daring rescue attempts and the physical toll of magical coups d'etat against fascist dictators.

"You promised about the books and the clothes and the cat!" Gellert shouted, somehow manically gleeful as Minerva and Alastor manhandled him to the door. He looked younger. How could he look younger? Dumbledore felt his age. He could have sworn his hair had turned gray in the space of those fifteen minutes.

"I did," Albus replied. "And _I _do not break promises."

"Every month. You must come every month, except when school is in session. Then I will excuse you! And give Roosevelt and Patton and Churchill the letters in the upper right-hand drawer. It'll end by September at the latest. Hitler will be dead by tomorrow."

"_Do _shut up," Minvera snapped tartly. "You've gone mad."

"No," Gellert replied, still almost frighteningly, energetically merry. "I'm happy." He grinned at Albus as Mivera Petrified him for good measure.

The dawn cast blood red shadows on them all, making Albus's hair look like flame, and illuminating the trickling blood splattered across Grindelwald's handsome face.

His ecstatic laughter rang out, a strange imitation of birdstong in the still, almost vacant air, and if Albus had allowed himself, he would have seen the look of almost crazed joy on Gellert's face at the thought that Albus loved him still, and Albus would have admitted again, with a love and a longing and a lachrymose sadness that pulled his heart straight out of his chest, that Gellert's smiles gleamed more beautifully, cast more light than any sunrise.


End file.
